Chapter Ten.
An Operation.
The meal prepared by the Sheikh’s people astounded the little party—there were crisp cutlets, freshly made cakes, bowls of a porridge made with fresh milk and some kind of finely ground grain, and fruit in abundance, while all pronounced the freshly roasted coffee to be delicious. So appetising did it prove in the pleasant, subdued shadow of the tent, that the weariness of the past night was forgotten by more than one, for before the meal was at an end Sam made his appearance, washed and refreshed, to help attend to his master’s wants, and say in answer to Frank’s inquiries that he couldn’t have believed he could feel so much better in so short a time.
Frank smiled to himself, but he did not allude to the will. It was soon evident, though, that the man had his words upon his conscience, for he kept on giving Frank peculiar, meaning looks, one and all of which were ignored, the only words that passed being later in the afternoon, when Sam suddenly edged up close to his confidant and said—
“It’s wonderful what a good rest does for a man, Mr Frank, sir, isn’t it?”
“Wonderful, Sam,” was the reply. “I feel very little the worse for my night’s ride.”
“That’s just about like I am, sir, and—”
“I can’t stop Sam,” said Frank, interrupting him; “your master wants me again.”
Frank hurried back to the doctor’s side to resume his position of assistant, for he had been pretty busy making his first essays at the task which was to be his for many months to come.
For the Sheikh’s son had been seen, examined, and an operation performed, one of a very simple nature, but sufficient to give instant relief; while the Hakim’s instructions that the lad was to remain lying down for a month were not hard for one who had not stood up, save in acute agony, for three years.
“I am well paid for this operation, Frank, my lad,” said the Hakim, when he left the lad’s tent; for the old Sheikh had gone down on one knee to touch the hand extended to him.
“It is a miracle, Excellency,” he said; “but tell me that he will live.”
“It is no miracle, Sheikh,” replied the doctor, “only the result of study and practice. Oh, yes, the boy will live and grow strong. Don’t kneel to me; I am but a man like yourself, and glad to help one who has come forward so nobly to help us.”
The visit to the sick child was not of so happy a nature, for the Hakim took the mother’s hand sadly, and the Sheikh interpreted his words, that told how hopeless was the case, and how much better for her that she should cease to suffer soon.
In another tent, though, the Hakim brought light and hope, for the failing sight, though it would soon have become hopeless, was at a stage when a slight operation and the following treatment of keeping the girl in darkness, were sufficient to ensure recovery.
The next patient was the young Arab suffering from the broken limb, and over this the Hakim’s examination, after the poor fellow had limped by the help of a stick to a rough couch in one of the smaller tents, was long and careful.
“The youth is healthy and strong,” the doctor said to the Sheikh and the young man’s brother, “but the leg will never mend while it is like this. There is diseased bone.”
“Then the Hakim cannot cure him?” said the Sheikh sadly, and the sufferer lay watching anxiously, gazing from one to the other, longing intensely to know the meaning of the words spoken in what was, in spite of the people of his tribe being so much in touch with the English who came to Cairo, an unknown tongue.
“Oh, yes, I can certainly cure him if he is willing to bear some pain, which I will alleviate all I can, and will undertake to wait patiently afterwards until the broken bones have knit together.”
“Ah, then,” cried the Sheikh, “cure him. He must bear the pain.”
“Ask his consent first,” said the doctor.
“His?” said the Sheikh, looking wonderingly at the doctor; “he is one of my people. I give you my permission.”
“Never mind that. Ask him if he is willing. Who is this?”
“His brother, Excellency.”
“Ask him too.”
The words were interpreted, and the anxious look on the brothers’ faces gave place to one of eager hope and pleasure as they heard and replied—
“Yes, Excellency, we beg that you will do what is right, no matter what pain he suffers. He prays you to make him a man instead of the useless cripple he remains—useless to himself, a trouble to his friends.”
The Hakim bowed and turned to Frank.
“You will have to help me,” he said. “I will not ask you if you have the nerve. There is diseased bone, which must be removed, and he must be kept under an anaesthetic, for he could not bear the pain, and his sufferings would hinder me.”
Half an hour later, by the Sheikh’s orders, everyone was sent to a distance from the tent, into which the Hakim was watched with looks full of awe, as he disappeared therein, followed by Frank and the Sheikh, the brother sitting by waiting, and both looking reverently at the man whose knowledge was something tremendous in their eyes.
“Are you going to stay, Sheikh?” said the Hakim. “It would be better that you and this young man should go.”
“I should like his brother to stay and see what is done, Excellency, while I—I am the father and chief of my tribe; the people look to me, and it is through me that you are going to do this thing. My people would not be contented if I did not stay.”
“Very well,” said the doctor quietly, and for the next half hour he was busily employed, finishing the securing of the last bandage within that time, while when the patient had fully recovered his consciousness, the calm look of content and satisfaction with which he smiled up in his surgeon’s face on being told that all was done, augured well for a quick recovery.
The Hakim’s reputation had been planted that day like so much seed thrown into fertile soil; and as they left the tent after the last patient had sunk into a calm sleep, Frank, who had seen the brother steal out before, now noticed how the people of the tribe were standing about waiting to see the Hakim return to his own tent, one and all eager to catch his eye and make obeisance after their fashion to this man, who seemed greater to them than any chief.
Chapter Eleven.
The Nomad Life.
It was settled that a stay of three days was to be made at the encampment, a period that seemed grievously long to Frank; but there were excellent reasons for the delay.
The Sheikh said it would take that time to make all the preparations necessary for the start; and he advocated the wisdom of the three who were not accustomed to camel-riding, going out twice each day with some of the young men, so as to grow more at ease.
On the other hand, the Hakim said that it would be absolutely necessary for him to stay that time with his patients, so as to ensure good following his operations, and this was unanswerable.
“We shall not be losing time, Excellencies,” said the Sheikh, “for you must now take at once to the native dress, and assume the characters of those you are to represent.”
“But your people here,” said Frank quickly; “is it wise for them to know?”
The Sheikh smiled.
“Oh, yes,” he said; “why not? They must know. It is to ensure the safety of you all from the wild and savage followers of the Mahdi, I have told them, and they feel that it is good. No harm can come from their knowing all this.”
“Forgive me,” said Frank quickly. “I feel now that my suspicions were unworthy.”
“Only natural, Frank,” said the professor quietly. “You do not know Ibrahim and his people as I do.”
“That is my misfortune,” said the young man, smiling. “I am going to know them as well.”
That evening Sam came to the Hakim’s tent to ask if he could do anything for his master.
He found him sitting at the tent door talking with Frank and the professor, and the three exchanged glances.
“Well, no, Samuel,” said the Hakim quietly. “You are tired out with your long ride.”
“Yes, sir; I ache all over, and my hands are quite shaky.”
“I shall want nothing more. Go and rest yourself, and go to your bed in good time, so as to get a long night’s rest.”
“Thankye, sir; I’m much obliged, sir. I think that is about what I want to set me right.”
Sam went back to the little tent set apart for him, and lost no time in throwing himself down upon a rug, to lie listening to the bleating of the sheep and goats, mingled with which came at times the moaning and complaining of the camels.
As soon as his back was turned the doctor had laughed softly.
“I meant to have set him to work to-night,” he said, “over my head; but I don’t think his touch would have been very light after his last night’s work.”
“Oh, no,” said the professor; “besides, you ought to have daylight for that job. Between ourselves, I shall not be sorry to take to the native dress again. It is much more suitable for the climate than ours. I have used it in a modified form ever since I first came out. The sooner we begin the better.”
The conversation then turned upon the doctor’s patients.
“So you found them patient patients,” said the professor, smiling.
“Poor creatures, yes. They seem to have the most unbounded faith in me.”
“Of course,” said the professor; “and a fine thing for them that they have, Robert my son.”
“Yes, Fred, old fellow, I suppose it is, for it means quick recovery. I always like to have to do with a patient who looks relieved as soon as I come into the room. He little knows how he is helping me towards his cure.”
“Poor fellow! he doesn’t think, then, of what is to come?”
“His sufferings?” said the doctor. “No, only about how I may be able to relieve them.”
“Didn’t mean that, old fellow,” said the professor. “I meant his mental sufferings over the fees; eh, Frank?”
“Don’t try to joke, Fred,” said the doctor; “this place makes me feel solemn—the gentle calm of the oasis, the trickling of the water in this thirsty land, and the simple, patriarchal life of the people.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the professor softly; “hear this Frank?”
“Hear what?” said the young man, in a tone or voice which suggested that the calm of the desert was influencing him too.
“Bob Morris talking as if it wouldn’t take much to make him give up civilisation and take to a nomad life.”
“Well,” said the doctor quietly, “I confess that already I feel something of its fascination, and I am glad we have come. All this is growing irresistibly attractive.”
“And when I’ve been at home and have vaunted the beauty of the old, simple, patriarchal life, and told of how I enjoyed it during my Egyptian explorations, you laughed at me, and as good as called me a lunatic. What do you say to that?”
“That I spoke in ignorance, old fellow,” said the doctor quietly. “Of course I should not like to give up our civilisation, but for a time this has a great charm. I feel, too, that we have done very wisely in following out Frank’s plan.”
“Thank you,” said the young man eagerly.
“I shall get on famously with these simple people, who will all prove excellent patients, and the result will be that we shall get in touch with poor old Harry, and bring him safely away.”
“Yes, we’re going to do it, Frank, my lad. It looks easier to me every hour.”
No more was said for a time, for they all felt the fatigue consequent upon their exertions of the past night, and that it was very delicious to lounge there in the soft sand, watching the fall of evening with the paling glories of the most wonderful sunset two of the party had ever beheld. And this was made the more agreeable by the respect with which they were treated, their part of the encampment being kept, as it were, sacred, and everything sordid hidden from their sight.
Chapter Twelve.
A Fight with a Black.
Now it so happened that Sam soon ceased to congratulate himself upon his good luck. He had thrown himself upon the couch provided for his resting-place. He had discovered by turning it up that sheep-skins were stretched beneath it to make it soft, and that beneath these the sand was yielding and dry. But all the same the couch felt hard, and sleep would not come.
He tried this side and that side, front after back, and returned to the back; but it was no good, for the fact was that he was over-tired; and over-weariness, that is to say, exhaustion, is one of the worst opponents to a calm and satisfying sleep.
The evening came on cool and soft after the ardour of the afternoon, and he began thinking about the proceedings of that time, and felt a little hurt that the doctor had not called upon him to come and act as his assistant, and these thoughts lasted him for about an hour, but did not weary him into dropping off to sleep. They seemed to have the contrary effect, making him irritable; and though he made up his mind to watch the stars peer out through the opalescent sky—he did not call it opalescent, for the simple word dusky took its place—even their soft light had no effect upon him, and to come to the result at once the would-be sleeper gave it up at last for a bad job.
“I’ll go and get something to eat and drink, and then try what I can do.”
In this spirit he rose from his couch, feeling stiff and awkward, grunted, stretched, and then stood in the tent door looking out upon the glorious, star-spangled sky, noting that it was lighter towards the east, where the moon was about to rise.
“Ought to be able to sleep,” he said. “Nice fine night, and it’s all quiet and cool.”
Then his attention was taken up by the soft light which came from the gentlemen’s tent, in which a lamp was burning, while some twenty yards away another was lighting up the opening of the Sheikh’s big tent, showing the figures of the chief and his visitors seated comfortably smoking, as they conversed in a low voice.
Sam made up his mind at once. There would be drinking water in a brass vessel in the gentlemen’s tent, and perhaps something to eat—something to refresh him and give him the night’s rest of which he was so sorely in need.
Walking across the open space, he turned his head for a moment, attracted by a complaining voice as of some one in trouble, and he was about to run off to find out what was the matter. But a repetition of the sound made him jerk himself angrily away.
“One of those beauties!” he muttered. “Talk about a bad-tempered horse, why he’s an angel compared to a camel! Of all the disagreeable, whining, sour, vicious things that ever breathed, they seem about the worst. Gritty, that’s what they are. Get the sand into their tempers when they’re young, I suppose.—Oh, he’s quiet now. Well, it is a beautiful night after all, and the cool air seems to do one good. I expect I shall get to like it when I’ve learnt to ride that brute of a camel, so long as there’s no stabbing and spearing and that sort of thing.”
Sam shook his head very solemnly as these last thoughts came into his head in company with recollections of scraps he had read in the daily papers about encounters with the dervishes, and the horrible massacres they had perpetrated.
“Seems to me,” he said, “that these people ought to be stopped. If I was Government I wouldn’t let people go about carrying swords and spears. With things like them fashionable it stands to reason that they’re sure to want to stick them into somebody.—Ugh! It’s very horrid. There ought never to be any other fighting than what is done with a fist.”
Sam had by this time sauntered up to the opening into the gentlemen’s tent, and there he paused to look round at the figures by that of the Sheikh, before stepping inside in search of what he required.
The low murmur of conversation came softly to his ears as he looked and then turned back to enter.
“Shouldn’t a bit wonder if they’ve got a nice hot cup of coffee there, and that’s just the thing that would suit my complaint exactly. I should be all right if I was at home, but I sha’n’t get it here, and—”
By this time he was half across the roomy, booth-like tent, where he stopped short as if turned to stone in his surprise. For dimly seen by the light from the hanging lamp, he could see a figure stooping down—through the opening into the inner tent where the water and brass basins stood ready for washing.
It was within this place that the leather cases containing the travellers’ clothes and various necessaries had been placed, and over one of these open portmanteaus the dimly seen figure was bending, and from the slight noises he made it was evident that he was ransacking the case in search of something.
“Oh,” thought Sam excitedly, “that’s why I couldn’t sleep—sort o’ warning like to do my dooty. Thieves, eh? and not a policeman on the beat!”
Just at that moment the figure straightened itself up, and quick as thought Sam stepped close back to the entrance and behind a hanging rug, which hid him from the figure but enabled him to watch its proceedings.
Sam’s first idea was to shout for help to capture the thief, but he checked himself.
“Wouldn’t do,” he thought. “This sort’s too slippery. He’d be off over the sands and gone before anyone came. I’ve got to catch my gentleman myself. Wonder whether he has a knife.”
Sam’s heart beat fast, but it was with excitement, for there was no leaven of fear. A marauder was robbing his master or one of his master’s friends, and he felt it to be his duty to capture the scoundrel. At the same time he intended to do this without injury to himself.
“Bless him!” he muttered; “if he’ll only come close and turn his back I’ll have him down on his face in a jiffy, and sit upon him as if he was a camel. It will be time enough to holloa then.”
Those were exciting moments, and Sam’s heart beat faster still as the man stepped softly out of the inner tent and stood for a few moments where the dim light of the lamp fell upon him, showing him to be a light, active-looking black in white cotton jacket and short drawers, his arms, breast, and legs from mid-thigh being bare, and glistening softly as he moved, while his eyes rolled and the whites stood out clearly against the dark skin.
“He’ll be hard to hold,” thought Sam, “and I mustn’t trust to that thin cotton stuff. He’ll tear away in a moment. But he hasn’t a knife, as far as I can see. What’s he got in his pockets, I wonder.”
Sam wondered more the next moment, as he saw the black dart softly back into the inner tent and disappear, his bare feet not making a sound.
“Is there a way out behind there?” the man asked himself, for all was quiet and the minutes glided by till he was just on the point of stepping forward to make sure of the enemy’s presence, when the black appeared again, carrying an armful of clothes, which he threw down on the carpet, and to Sam’s great delight dropped upon his knees in the very position he would have placed him, while the object of his visit was plainly shown, for he began to rummage the pockets of the garments and transfer their contents, the chink of money being heard, and a faint gleam was apparently given forth by something metallic, evidently a watch.
As Sam saw all this he softly raised his hands to his lips after the fashion of a boy about to moisten them so as to get a good grip. But it was only in form, and as he did so he stepped softly from behind the hanging rug and then onward slowly to within springing distance, when with extended hands he crouched and sprang at the black, landed upon his back, driving him forward, and gripped him tightly.
“Got you!” he muttered to himself, and this was perfectly true, but the black did not lie quiet like the camel Sam had settled himself to ride. For he began to act at once as if made of a combination of steel springs. He swung himself sidewise as he felt Sam upon his back, disorganised the butler’s holding, and behaved in a thoroughly eel-like fashion as he struggled hard to get away.
It was many years since Sam had engaged in such a struggle, but he had not quite forgotten old, boyish encounters. The resistance stirred up the latent temper within him, and though his holding was not what he had meant it to be, it was fast, and he made it tighter, locking arms and legs about his captive, and the next minute they were rolling over and over, twisting and twining on the carpet, and panting hard as each strove for the mastery.
Sam’s intention had been to shout for help as soon as he had seized the black, but he was too busy holding him, and all recollection of his plans passed from his memory at once. All he could think of now was that he must keep his prize, while it was perfectly evident that his prize did not mean to be kept, but fought for his liberty with might and main, while at the first encounter the writhing pair had come in contact with one of the poles which supported the tent, the lamp had fallen, and the place now, save for the dim starlight seen through the doorway, was in utter darkness.
It was only working by touch, but Sam made good use of his muscles, forgetting all about his stiffness, and for quite a couple of minutes the panting and scuffling of the wrestling pair went on, till Sam found himself upon his back with the black sitting upon his chest and a pair of hands in close proximity to his throat.
But in spite of his being in the worse position Sam was not beaten. He had fast hold of his enemy with his hands, and had thrown up his legs so as to tighten them round those of his foe, and in this position both held on as if trying to recover breath.
Then all at once Sam felt the grip of one of the black’s hands loosen, and a horrible thought flashed through his brain—
It was his adversary’s right hand, and he was about to seek for his knife!
“Look here, you black hound,” panted Sam. “If you stab me you’ll be hung.”
“Sam!” came in a hoarse voice, and the grip slackened.
“Who are you?” panted Sam. “Why!—what I—’Tain’t you, is it, Master Frank?”
“Oh, you idiot! you fool!”
“But I don’t under— I say, Mr Frank, I took you for a nigger.”
“You’ve dragged me all to pieces, and I’m so hot I—”
“But is it you, Master Frank, dressed up?”
“You knew it was,” cried the young man angrily, as the grasp being slackened he struggled up, to stand breathing hard.
“’Strue as goodness, sir, I didn’t!” said Sam, rising to his knees. “Oh, just wait till I get my wind again. I say, Mr Frank, you are strong—strong as—as a donkey.”
“I? Come, I like that!” panted Frank. “I’m a donkey, am I, sir?”
“’Pon my word, Mr Frank, I beg your pardon. I came into the tent and saw, as I thought, a real nigger robbing the place, and though I felt scared about his having a knife, I went at him, and it was you all the time.”
“Yes, it was I all the time,” cried Frank angrily. “Why didn’t you speak?”
“Never thought about it, sir. Seemed to me that I ought to catch the thief, and I caught a Tartar instead.”
“It is most vexatious! Oh, how hot I am! Have you got a match?”
“Yes, I’ve got a box somewhere.”
“Look sharp, then, and light the lamp.”
“All right, sir,” said Sam, fumbling in his box, and proceeding to strike a light. “I ’spose you’ve made me in a pretty mess, sir.”
“What! Have I made your nose bleed?”
“Oh, no, sir. I meant the lampblack. I suppose I shall be covered with it.”
“Wait till you get the light, and see,” said Frank sharply.
Scratch! The little wax match flashed, the lamp was picked up uninjured, and after a little trying, burned freely, so that the adversaries could gaze in each other’s faces.
But prior to doing this Sam examined his hands twice over, and then passed them over his face. He next took out a pocket-handkerchief and rubbed his face well, bringing away plenty of perspiration, but the linen remained white.
“It hasn’t come off, sir,” he said, in a tone full of wonder; and then, moistening his handkerchief with his lips, “Beg your pardon, sir, would you mind?”
Frank, whose annoyance was dying out, being driven off by a feeling of amusement caused by the man’s looks of wonder, stood fast while Sam passed his handkerchief over the back of one hand and then drew back, laughing softly.
“Well, Sam!” he cried.
“I say, sir, you do look rum! I shouldn’t have known you. I don’t know you now, and I don’t believe your own mother would.”
“Then you think the disguise is perfect enough?”
“Disguise, sir? You can’t call that a disguise! It’s the real thing. Why, you’re a downright genuine nigger, that you are!”
“That’s right, Sam,” said Frank, smiling now.
“And the best of it is, sir, that you’re regular fast colours.”
“I hope so, Sam.”
“Think you could bear to wash yourself, sir?”
“Oh, yes. It will take weeks to make this look lighter.”
“Well, I call it amazing, sir. There ain’t no need for you to mind where you go. No dervish could take you for a white man, unless he was mad. But am I to be painted that colour?”
“No; you will go as you are—the Hakim’s white servant.”
“Well, just as you like, sir; I don’t mind. I’ll be touched up like you are if you think it will be safer for a man. It’s wonderful, sir. And no fear of its showing the dirt. But pst! here’s some one coming. The doctor and Mr Landon, sir. I thought you were sitting along with them. Have they seen you like this?”
“No, Sam; I was just getting ready for them.”
“Did they know it, sir?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll go in yonder. You stop and let ’em catch you sudden like. Just to try if they’ll know you.”
Frank nodded, and Sam darted into the inner tent, just having disappeared as the professor sauntered in with the doctor, and both drew up short.
“Hullo, you, sir!” said the professor gruffly, in Arabic; “what business have you here?”
Frank made no reply, but edged a little to one side, while at the same moment the doctor caught sight of the clothes lying on the floor, and uttered an exclamation.
“Yes, see!” cried the professor. “Robbers, eh? Help me, and we’ll tie this fellow up.”
“Quick, then,” said the doctor. “Look out for his knife. Bah! how absurd!” he added the next moment, calming down from the excitability he had displayed.
“What do you mean?” cried the professor sharply.
“Don’t hold back. Why!—what!—My dear Frank, what a metamorphosis!”
“Yes,” said Frank quietly. “I have passed muster with three of you, so I suppose it will do.”
“Do!” cried the professor. “Why, it is simply admirable. Stop a minute, I’ll fetch Sam from his tent and try him.—Eh? You here, sir?” he added, as Sam came out of the inner tent.—“You’ve seen him, then?”
“Yes, sir, and felt him too!” said the man, and the newcomers heard what had taken place.
Chapter Thirteen.
Ben Eddin.
The Hakim was carefully prepared the next morning for his visit to his patients, Sam making the preparations, even to the extent of having a brass pot of boiling water for the razors.
“Seems a pity, sir,” he said, as the three gentlemen sat together in the tent, a turned-up case forming the barber’s chair, upon which the doctor took his seat; “master’s got such a fine, thick head of hair.”
“Operate, Sam, operate,” said the doctor; and the next minute, comb in one hand, scissors in the other, the man was snipping away, and the doctor’s crisp, dark hair fell rapidly over his shoulders and down about him upon the cloth that had been spread.
Sam’s cutting was clever enough, and a pretty good transformation was produced even with the scissors, while, when the razor had done its part, and the finishing touches had been given, the doctor passed his hands over his head and then drew them over his long beard.
“Like a looking-glass?” said the professor drily.
“No, thanks. I know my features pretty well,” was the reply. “I shall not forget them.”
“But don’t you want to see the Hakim?”
“No,” said the doctor quietly. “How many years older do I look, Frank?” he added quickly.
“Twenty,” was the prompt reply.
“Quite,” said the professor.
“The clothes the Sheikh sent in, Sam,” said the doctor, after giving a nod of satisfaction. “Now then, let me finish the work, so that you may see whether it will pass muster.”
“I’ll keep you company,” said the professor, and he followed his friend into the further tent, leaving Frank walking thoughtfully up and down, passing and repassing the doorway, till his attention was caught by the tall, stately figure of the Sheikh who was coming across from his own place.
Frank hesitated a moment or two, and then he drew himself up and stood waiting with folded arms till the Sheikh reached the entrance, and said quietly—
“May I enter, O Excellency?”
“Yes, come in,” cried the doctor from the inner tent, and the old Arab bent a little as he came in, and then raised himself erect as he took a step or two into the half light of the shady place, and stopped short face to face with Frank, at whom for the first few moments he stood staring without the slightest sign of recognition in his countenance, while the youth resembled an ebony carving more than a living being.
“Hah!” said the Sheikh at last. “It is very good, Excellency, very good. It would deceive me. I should not have known. But the dark stain? Will it come off?”
Frank shook his head.
“Not if you used water?”
There was another shake of the head.
“It is good—more than good,” said the Sheikh. “I have come over to walk with the Hakim to see his sick people. Is he ready to go?”
Frank shook his head, and raising a hand slowly pointed to his mouth.
“Ah, I forgot that,” said the old man, smiling gravely. “It is very good indeed; but can you keep this painful silence?”
Frank bowed his head slowly, and pointed to the divan for the Sheikh to take his seat, the young man preserving his erect position of respect the while.
“It is soon to begin, Excellency,” said the Sheikh smiling, “but you must be Excellency no more till our work is done; only in my heart. What name will you bear?”
“Frank!” cried the doctor from the inner tent, and the Sheikh smiled, but the young man shook his head violently. “Tell the Sheikh I shall be with him in a minute.”
“I am waiting patiently, Excellency,” said the old man aloud. Then turning to Frank, “Suppose we say Ben Eddin?”
Frank nodded and smiled.
“Let it be so, then, Ben Eddin, my son, slave to the learned Hakim, with whom you have been so long that you understand his Frankish tongue. I have lain awake thinking many hours about the Hakim’s other slave, and I feel that it would be wise that he should be his Frankish slave. There will be no mistake then. He can wear our burnoose and haïk; they will be enough. It is quite right that he should have brought a servant from his own country. What say you, Ben Eddin?”
Frank bowed his head gravely at once, and the Sheikh smiled his satisfaction, before springing up quickly, and forgetting his grave manner he clapped his hands together, applauding, and then bowing low to the grave and reverend Hakim who entered the tent slowly in flowing white garments and voluminous turban, in front of which was fastened a large, dark green scarab, a genuine treasure found by the professor in the tomb of a man who was supposed to have been physician to one of the Egyptian kings. It had been intended to form a brooch, and the doctor had had it set in gold. This he had taken from among his curios as being most suitable for the purpose in hand, and it took the Sheikh’s attention at once.
“Well, Ibrahim,” said the doctor, slowly removing his turban as if to place it more comfortably, but holding it long enough for the Arab to see his closely shaven head; “do you think this will do?”
“It is perfect, Excellency,” said the old man warmly. “It far exceeds all I could have thought possible.”
“So say I,” cried the professor, entering now in travel-stained Egyptian garments and muslin-covered fez.
“Excellent, too, Excellency,” said the Sheikh. “And now you will keep to this?”
“Of course. The Hakim is ready now to go round and see his sick.”
The Sheikh bowed, and feeling a little nervous the party set off at once, leaving Sam watching them from the door.
It was rather an ordeal, for they had not gone many paces towards the first tent they were to visit before they were seen, and word seemed to be passed quickly through the encampment, so that as they reached this first tent several of the Sheikh’s people appeared, while when they came out of it again nearly everyone of those occupying the place had hurried forth to stand watching.
But there was no look of wonder, no vestige of a smile, only respectful looks and bending down as the little party passed on.
That first visit was a solemn one, for it was to the tent where they were met by the mother of the little child, who led them to where her little sufferer lay in its last sleep. She reverently pressed the Hakim’s extended hand to her forehead, her tear-filled eyes and trembling lips seeming to say that she accepted patiently the blow which had fallen during the night, and that the Great Physician was very wise.
Frank Frere felt more at his ease by the time the next tent was reached, and perfectly satisfied when all was done. For he had played his part of slave and assistant easily and well, holding water vessels, passing bandage and lint, and standing by the sufferers while the Hakim tended his patients with the greatest care.
For there was no wondering gaze. It seemed quite natural and right to the sufferers, who were all doing well. The change in the dress of the Hakim and his friends was only what might have been expected now that their journey there was over, while Frank, the black slave, had the satisfaction of feeling that he was not even recognised by those he tended. He was the Hakim’s dumb, black slave. The white assistant who had helped the doctor the previous day was not present—that was all.
A couple of hours were taken up over the invalids, and they were left out of pain and comforted by the Hakim’s gentle hand, while when their own tent was reached the Hakim was able to say that nothing could be better than the state of his patients. With a couple more days’ attention they might be left to nature, and would soon be well.
That afternoon Sam set aside his English clothes and blossomed forth into a showy-looking Arab, evidently feeling rather proud of his dress, the most conspicuous part of which was a scarlet scarf broadly spread around his waist, one which in an ordinary way would have been pretty well hidden by the loose outer cotton robe, but which the man took ample care should not have its brilliant tint eclipsed more than he could help.
Naturally enough he sought the first opportunity he could find of getting Frank alone in the tent, and began at once in rather a conscious way.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he said. “I mean, Ben Eddin. May I say Ben for short?”
There was a short nod, and the man continued—
“I say, sir—Ben. It’s very awkward, but the professor says I’m to treat you as if you’re my fellow servant. You won’t like that?”
There was a quick, eager nod.
“Well, I sha’n’t, Mr Ben. I can’t help it, but it makes me feel ashamed like, and as if I’d lost all respect for my master’s young friend.”
Frank held out his hand with a smile, and kept it extended till, in a slow, hesitating way and with a peculiar grimace, Sam took it, and felt it held in a firm, manly, friendly grip.
“Oh, well, Mr Ben, if it’s to be like that I can’t help it; but please recollect that however disrespectful I seem through this business my ’eart’s in its right place, and I think just the same of you as ever I did.”
There was a quick, eager nod and a smile, which made the man look more cheerful for a moment; but as he drew back his hand, he raised his white garment involuntarily and began to wipe the fingers, passing the white cotton over them two or three times before he realised what he was doing.
“Oh,” he exclaimed hastily, “what a hidiot I am! I beg your pardon, Mr Ben, I do indeed. It seemed to me as if your hand must have come off black. Eh?—Never mind; that’s what you look as if you was saying.—Thankye, sir. That’s very good of you. Now you look as if you meant that I should soon get used to it.—Ah, you nod again.—Well, I’m blessed, sir, if I don’t think it will begin to get easy after a bit of practice.—There’s another of your nods. Thankye, sir. Yes, it will come right after all. I never thought anyone could get through so much business with a few nods and shakes of the head.—Beg pardon, sir.—Hullo, that’s a shake! I’m doing wrong. It takes a bit of time.—You nod. So it does, sir—I mean Mr Ben.—What’s that wrong? Why, what have I said?—I know: it’s the ‘mister.’ Thought so.—Ben, then, or Ben Eddin. I shall get it soon. Well, I don’t want to be a nuisance, but it’s very lonely for me, Ben, and if you wouldn’t mind, as we are to be a bit together, I should like to come to you when I feel in a bit of a fix.”
Frank nodded and Sam’s face lit-up with pleasure.
“That’s very nice of you, Ben Eddin,” he said eagerly. “You see, I wanted to have a word or two with you about these things. I want to do it right and look proper.”
Frank nodded.
“’Tain’t vanity, mind, sir. I ain’t a bit conceited, but I should like to feel that I look decent.”
There was a decisive nod.
“Thankye, Ben Eddin. You see, they’re so fresh to me. The bit o’ scarlet looks right, don’t it? Thankye Ben. You don’t think it a bit too sojery, do you? No; you don’t. Well, I’m glad o’ that, for I felt as it took off a bit of the washer-womany, night-gowny idea. Then you think I shall do, Ben—Eddin?”
Frank nodded approval.
“Hah! Makes a man feel a deal better. For between ourselves, Ben Eddin, I got an idea in my head that everyone was a bit on the grin as soon as I came out, and if you could lay your ’and on your ’eart now and say to me with one of your straightforward looks without blinking your eyes that it was all my fancy I could go on as comfortable as could be, for they are out and out nice and cool.”
Frank gave his companion the asked-for steady look, and smilingly laid his hand upon his breast.
“Thankye, Ben Eddin. You always were a pleasant gentleman that it was a treat to have staying at Wimpole Street. Wimpole Street!—Ha, ha, ha!” said Sam, laughing softly. “My word! how comic it does seem. What would they say in Wimpole Street if they could—”
Sam stopped short, and a look of pain crossed his face.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he whispered. “Well, Ben Eddin,” he said aloud. “Mr Landon said I was never to whisper, and I won’t do it again. But I wanted to say I was sorry. It isn’t comic, or queer, or anything. I know—I know it’s all terrible real, and I’m going to try and help like a man through it all. I was a fool and a hidiot to speak as I did—and you’ll forgive me, Ben Eddin? Thankye.”
For Frank’s hand rested lightly on the man’s shoulder, and for a few minutes there was silence in the tent. Then Sam’s face brightened, and he said eagerly—
“I’ve had two goes on the camel, Ben, in these things, and somehow it seemed to me as if the grumbling beast took to me more in them. He went easier. I shall do it: I know I shall. I didn’t feel half so much like pitching on to my nose as I did before. It’s rum work, though, all the same.”
Chapter Fourteen.
Frank’s First Milestone.
It was just before daybreak on the fifth morning that everyone in the cluster of tents was astir. Much had been done over night to advance the preparations, so that nothing remained but the loading up of the camels.
This last was being rapidly carried out in an orderly way. This one with the water-skins, that with the meal; another bore personal effects; while again another carried two English-made portmanteaus slung pannier-fashion across its back, the carefully packed contents being the Hakim’s selected store of medicines, instruments, and surgical appliances, reduced to the smallest compass possible for efficacy. The other leathern receptacle contained instruments and bottles that were heavy and cumbrous, Frank’s own selection; and at the last minute, as he saw the extent of the preparations and what a caravan their party made for the long journey, he proposed to the Hakim and the professor when they were alone that the scientific apparatus should be left behind with their clothes, and other articles deemed unnecessary, in charge of the little tribe.
“After all, they are only to play scientific conjuring tricks with,” said Frank. “The idea occurred to me at first, but on more thinking the matter over I don’t fancy that they will pay for taking.”
“I don’t agree with you, Frank, lad,” said the Hakim. “What you call scientific conjuring tricks are really displays of the wonders of nature, and are likely to impress the ignorant quite as much as any cure I can effect.”
“Quite so,” said the professor; “they appeal at once to the eye. For my part, I would not on any account leave the apparatus behind.”
“As you like,” said Frank. “I only thought our load was getting too great.”
A few words followed with the Sheikh respecting the extent of their impedimenta and the number of camels required, for others had to bear the gear of two tents, including several handsome rugs, and one way and another, with those devoted to riding, there were fifteen of the beasts of burden, while the party was increased to twelve by sturdy young men of the Sheikh’s tribe.
“His Excellency the Hakim thinks the caravan too big?” said the Sheikh, smiling. “Oh, no. It ought to be larger. So great and wise a man must have a good following, or the people will think he is of no importance. The train is very small, but the tents are good and the camels the best we have in the tribe.”
“And suppose we are attacked by some wandering tribe or a party of the new Mahdi’s ruffianly followers. They may strip us and carry off the camels; what then?”
The Sheikh smiled and shook his head.
“No,” he said; “they may come, but they will not rob us. There were plagues in Egypt once, and there are plagues in Egypt still. The wilder the people we meet, the less likely they will be to interfere with a learned Hakim. They will come to him for help. They know that he can take away disease, and they will think he can give disease amongst them like a curse. I know what the people fancy, and what they will do. No, the caravan is not too large, Excellencies. I should have liked it to be larger, for there are many things that would have been useful when we are far away where food and water are scarce; but there are the camels to feed, and the more we are the slower we travel. Like this we can go fast.”
“Fast?” said the professor, with a dry look; and the Sheikh smiled.
“Fast for the desert, Excellency,” he said. “No one expects to travel here faster than a camel walks when left to itself.”
So at daybreak on that morning the last camel was laden, the last necessary attached, and amidst the farewell cries of the tribe assembled to bless and thank and pray for a safe journey to all, the leading camels started off, moaning and complaining, and apparently directing angry cries at those of their kin more fortunate than themselves who, instead of having to tramp over the burning, shifting sand, beneath the scorching desert sun, were to stop and browse around those pleasant water-holes, and tend their young, watched over by the women and children of the tribe the while.
The moaning and grumbling went on for some time, as the long line of ungainly beasts stepped out through the cool grey, and a running conversation seemed to be going on, as if the camels were comparing notes about their loads and the unfairness of the masters, who had given this a load too bulky, that, one too heavy, and another, moist water-skins to carry, instead of a Hakim or chief.
But as the stars paled out and the light increased, the camels settled down and shuffled silently along, while the silence extended to the party, who all had their feelings of sadness to bear.
For doubts arose as to the success of the dangerous adventure. The Sheikh felt that he was an old man, and that this journey, which must inevitably last for many months, might be his last. His followers thought of wife or child, and were ready to sigh as they pondered on the perils and dangers ahead; while Hakim, professor, servant, and Frank, each had his feeling of heart-soreness and doubt as to how the adventure would end.
Frank’s greatest suffering was from the thought that time went on so fast while they went on so slowly. Already five days were dying out since they reached the temporary home of the tribe, and now that the start was made at last, how were they moving? In that long line of animals and pacing men advancing like some gigantic, elongated, crawling creature, whose home was the desert sand. Creeping patiently along, step by step, as if time were nothing, while probably the distance might prove to be a thousand miles before they reached, in the neighbourhood of Khartoum, some town or village which might be the prisoner’s temporary home.
But there was no thought in any breast there of turning back. The start had been made, and there was to be no looking northward again till the task that had been set was achieved.
“Off at last, Frank,” said the professor, who came up to where the young man was riding alone; “we are going splendidly.”
“Splendidly?”
“Yes. Everything is beautifully packed; the Sheikh’s men are all trained camel-drivers; and I never saw a finer set of animals since I first came to Egypt.”
“But hark at them,” said Frank.
“What for? It is their nature to, my lad. Your camel is a creature that seems to have been born with a grievance. I was talking about it to Morris just now, and he actually tried to make a joke about them.”
“The doctor did?” said Frank, smiling.
“Fact, my dear boy. He says it is on account of their having so many stomachs.”
“I always understood it was Nature’s blessing to them to enable the poor beasts to exist in these waterless regions.”
“That’s what I said to him,” replied the professor; “but he said that might be a great benefit, but his medical experience of patients was that most of their troubles from early childhood arose from disordered stomachs, and if human beings suffered so much from only having one, what must it be to have a plurality of these necessary organs like a camel! Enough to make anything ill-tempered, he said. Well, you don’t laugh.”
“No,” said Frank sadly; “my spirits are too low.”
“The time of day, my lad. I always feel at my worst about daybreak. You’ll be better soon. I say we are getting on capitally, and I feel no fear about our plan.”
“I do,” said Frank sadly.
“Why, what fresh doubts do you feel?”
“Over this dumb business. There seem to be always fresh difficulties cropping up.”
“Seem,” said the professor coolly. “Things that seem are generally like clouds: they soon fade away in the sunshine. What is the new ‘seem’?”
“About the Sheikh’s men. Now, for instance, they must notice that I am talking to you.”
“Of course they do, my lad. You may take it for granted that they know quite as much as we do, and that they grasp the fact that we are playing parts to deceive the dervishes.”
“And sooner or later, out of no ill-will, but by accident, they will betray us.”
“Take it for granted that they will not do anything of the sort. These Arabs are narrow-minded, and there is a good deal of the savage about them in connection with their carelessness regarding human life. But my experience of the Arab is, that he is a gentleman, and I would as soon trust one whom I had made my friend as I would a man of any nation. Now then, I’ve knocked that difficulty on the head. What is the next?”
“There are no more at present,” said Frank, smiling. “I suppose, then, that I need not keep trying to play my part while we are in company with our own party only?”
“Certainly not, my dear boy,” said the professor. “Your great difficulty really is to contain yourself fully when strangers are with us.”
“I shall try my best,” said Frank.
“Yes, my fine fellow, you had better. Now then, we’ve made our start, and you don’t feel so glum, do you?”
“No.”
“There’s the reason,” said the professor cheerily, as he pointed to the sun peering over the edge of the desert. “Nothing like that golden ball for sweeping away clouds of every kind. The only objection to his work is that he is a bit too thorough at times, and treats people out here as if they were meant to cook. Now then, look back as well as forward; the camels march like a line of grenadiers. Just as if they had been drilled.”
“But so slowly—so slowly,” said Frank, with a sigh.
“Here, look sharp, Sol!” cried the professor. “Get higher; there’s another cloud.”
“How can you be so light-hearted at a time like this?” said Frank bitterly.
“Because ‘A merry heart goes all the day; your sad tires in a mile-a,’ as Shakespeare says. Because we should never carry out our plans to success if we went at them with sad hearts. I found that out over many of my searches here. An eager, cheery captain makes an eager, cheery crew who laugh at wreck. Now then, I am going to demolish—with the help of the sun—that great, dense black cloud that has just risen above your mental horizon, my sable friend. Your fresh cloud is the slow one. Now, you must remember that we have given up civilisation, steam, electricity, and the like, to take up the regular and only way of travelling here in the desert. Some day, perhaps, we shall have the railway and wires from north to south; but until we do we must travel by caravan, and to travel by caravan you must travel in caravan fashion, in the old, long proved style. You would like to hurry on and do fifty miles the first day, instead of ten or fifteen.”
“Of course,” said Frank, “with such things at stake.”
“Exactly, my dear boy, and very naturally. Well, we’ll say you’d like to go forty miles to-day?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t be done. Men can’t walk forty miles over hot sand under a desert sun.”
“Then why not have had more camels?”
“Because camels can suffer like men. You would knock up your desert ships, and make them sore-footed the first day, have great difficulty in getting them half the distance the next day, half that the third, and no distance at all the fourth.”
“So bad as that?” said Frank.
“Most likely a good deal worse. Now we have old Ibrahim and his men, who know camels exactly, understand their constitutions, how much they can do, and how to get them to do it. You see, we are not going on a week’s journey.”
“A week’s!” said Frank bitterly; “at this rate it will be six months.”
“Perhaps a year’s,” said the professor quietly.
“A year’s?”
“Possibly; and if a camel should break down we can’t send round to the livery stable in the next street, or order a fresh one from the Stores. No one knows that better than the Sheikh. He is making the caravan travel so that it can go on for a year if necessary, and at the end of that year the camels, which mean life to us, will be fit to go on for another year.”
“But Harry—Harry—Harry!” sighed Frank sadly.
“Harry is in Egypt, my dear boy, where things go on as slowly now with the people as they did in the days of the old Pharaohs. Harry must wait, and you must wait, till we can reach him. Try at once to realise where you are, and that this is the only way in which we can achieve our plans.”
“I’ll try,” said Frank sadly.
“That’s right, for if left to yourself you would press on, and in less than a month all that would be left of my dear lad would be a few whitening bones in the desert, and Harry still gazing northward and westward for the help that did not come.”
“I’m afraid you are right, Landon,” said Frank sadly.
“I’m sure I am, my dear lad. Experientia has dosed me. Africa is a problem, solemn and slow as its great deserts, and the people here, much as we look down upon them, have been Nature-taught, educated, as it were, from the failings of those who have gone before, how to live, how to travel, in short, how to exist in such a land.”
“Forgive me, Landon,” said Frank.
“Of course, my dear boy. I know exactly how you feel. I was just as bad when I first came out here. The men maddened me with their slow movements when some glorious slab covered with hieroglyphics or painted pictures cut in, lay at the bottom of a hole into which the sand kept crumbling and trickling back. I was ready to give up over and over again when tired out at night, but a good rest made me ready to go on again in the morning with fresh patience, and in the end I won.”
“There,” said Frank, “say no more; I know you are right. This all comes of your talking to me. If you had not spoken I should have gone on in silence, so you have yourself to thank for my display of discontent.”
“Then I am very glad I have spoken,” said the professor warmly, “because I can feel that you will take the right view of matters.”
“Yes, I shall try hard to.”
“That’s right, and the best thing you can do is to enter into the journey from a keen observer’s point of view. Now look before you. What can you see?”
“A wide expanse of sand baking in the sunshine.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“Ah, that shows how uneducated your eyes are, and how much they have to learn. I’m not very clever over such things, being best when I get scent of a buried temple, tomb, or city. But this waste of nothingness contains plenty to interest an observer, and I can help you a little if you will try to make the best of our journey.”
“I have told you I will,” said Frank.
“Yes; so we’ll begin at once, for you may believe me that we are not going to journey fifteen or twenty miles to-day without seeing something more interesting than sand. Here’s my little binocular. Take it, and we’ll begin.”
“First of all, though,” said Frank, “are we bound for some particular place this evening?”
“Of course. For another patch of water-holes. Ibrahim says they are nothing like so good as those by the encampment, but they will do for the night’s halt. To-morrow we shall have to halt right in the desert and depend upon the water we take with us. The next day we journey on to fresh wells.”
“I see,” said Frank; “our journeys are regulated by the supplies of water.”
“Exactly. Water means life.”
“And Ibrahim can trust to his knowledge of the country to go straight to these places?”
“Yes; I have proved him over and over again. Now then: try the glass.”
“Yes,” said Frank, opening the case; “but tell me, do you mean to collect birds, insects, fossils, and plants?”
“Certainly, everything we can find; but only to examine at the end of the day. We must keep nothing; only make a few notes. Well, can you see anything?”
“Not yet. It is rather awkward to get a steady look with the camel moving.”
“If you catch sight of anything worth looking at you can check your steed.”
“Yes, there’s something moving yonder—a dog.”
“I doubt it,” said the professor. “Try again.”
“It looks like a dog. What is it then—a fox? Ah, it is gone behind those heaps yonder.”
“Then the desert is not quite empty, Frank. Your dog or fox must be a jackal; but I wonder at your seeing him in the daylight. Let me look at your heap of sand.”
“One minute; there are two somethings upon it. Two of those jackals sitting on a heap, I suppose, by their holes. No; one of them has stretched out two wings. Why, they’re vultures.”
“Better still. Now I’ll look.—Thanks. Your eyes require a different focus from mine. Yes. What I expected,” said the professor, handing back the glass. “Have another look at your sand heap; it will repay observation; it is one of the milestones of the caravan roads, only they are not placed at regular distances. Have you caught it again?”
“I keep catching glimpses,” replied Frank, with the glass to his eye; “but the whole thing seems to be dancing about.—Now I’ve got it.—No; gone again.—That’s better. The vultures have hopped off the heap and are spreading their wings. We have scared them away. Yes, there they go—a few hops, and they are rising sluggishly. No, I can’t follow them with the glass.”
“Can you see anything else?”
“Yes, I’ve got the heap again, and there are three of the little dog-like creatures scurrying right away. I say, this is a good glass! I can see the dusty sand rise as it is kicked by the jackals. Here, let’s stop the camel.”
“No,” said the professor; “there’s nothing worth stopping for.”
“But I want to make out something lying by that little heap. It looks like a curved bone.”
“It is a curved bone,” said the professor.
“You can’t see with the naked eye.”
“No,” said the professor, smiling; “but I have been along such a track as this before.”
“But there is no track,” said Frank. “We are going over smooth sand, and making a fresh one.”
“Which will all be obliterated in a few hours. It is a track, though, as your heap proves.”
“I should have liked to examine it, though.”
“Well, you will have plenty of chance, for we shall go pretty close to it—but on the windward side.”
Frank lowered the glass to look inquiringly at the speaker.
“Look here,” he said; “you mean something by the way you just spoke.”
“Certainly I did.”
“What?”
“Take your glass, and sharpen your powers of observation, my lad. The sooner you learn the desert the better for you.”
“I begin to have my suspicions,” said Frank sharply.
“If you wait a little longer, and go by there with your eyes shut, my lad, you will have something more than a suspicion.”
“Horrible!” said Frank shortly, as he once more raised his glass to his eyes. “You have given me the clue. I can make it out clearly now. Some poor camel that has strayed and lost its way, I suppose. Died from hunger and thirst.”
“More likely from old age or overwork,” replied the professor; “a milestone, only one of the many that mark the caravan tracks across the desert. Some one must have passed here within forty-eight hours.”
“How do you know?”
“By the appearance of that milestone. If we came by here to-morrow there would be nothing visible but some whitening bones. Look yonder without the glass. Look straight past the leading camel, low down at the horizon, and now raise your eyes. What can you see?”
“Glare,” said Frank.
“Try again.”
“Nothing but more glare, and the atmosphere quivering as it rises from the sand.”
“Try once more,” said the professor. “I can see one—two—three. Look higher.”
“Ah, I’ve got it now; a mere speck,” said Frank eagerly—“a crow.”
“Make it vulture, and you will be right. I can make out three—four of the loathsome creatures on their way to the feast. They are making a circuit so as to drop down after we have gone by.”
“They fulfil a duty, though, I suppose,” said Frank.
“Yes, and a very necessary one,” replied the professor; and this was evident a short time after, although the leading camel passed to windward of the heap, and it seemed to Frank that the animal he rode turned up the corners of its pendulous lips with a look of the most supreme disgust, as it turned its head slightly in the other direction.
“That’s fancy, Frank,” said the professor, as the young man drew his attention to the camel’s aspect. “I believe the poor beasts are so accustomed to the sight that they take it as a matter of course.”
“Is it so common, then?”
“Horribly common, and I hope we shall encounter nothing worse, but from what has been going on farther south I have my doubts.”
Frank rode on silently, and the professor did not speak for a few minutes. Then—
“Human life has always been held cheap out here. If we were travelling to examine the old records I could show you them cut in stone, as you can see them in the museums in Cairo, or in London when we return, the bragging, boasting blasphemies of this or that conquering king, all to the same tune—‘I came, I saw, I conquered; I slew so many thousands of the people—I took so many thousands into captivity—I built this temple to the gods—I raised this obelisk or that pyramid’—and all by hand labour, with the miserable, belaboured slaves dying by their thousands upon thousands under their taskmasters’ lashes, to be cast afterwards into the Nile, or left to the jackals and vultures. These and the crocodiles have always been wanted here, Frank, and as it has been so it is now. There is always an ‘I’—a very, very big capital ‘I’—who is glorifying himself with slaughter.”
“No conquering king now, though,” said Frank, “to leave his victories cut in the stones.”
“No, the slaughterers here nowadays are more barbarous. Not the city-building monarchs, but the nomadic chiefs who force themselves to the height of power with their horrible religious despotism—your Mahdis. It is a wonder that they find so many followers, but they do.”
“Fanaticism, I suppose,” said Frank.
“Yes, that and the love of conquest, with its additions in the shape of plunder. For years past these vast tracts of fertile land bordering the river have gone back to waste, village after village of industrious people having been massacred or forced to flee for their lives.”
“But—I have read so little about the Khedival rule—why has not the Egyptian Government put a stop to all this frightful persecution?”
“From want of power, my lad. The country has been too big, the army too small, and the invading tribes from the south too warlike a fighting race to be withstood. There is the consequence—a smiling land, irrigated by the mighty river which brings down the rich tropic mud from the highlands of the south, utterly depopulated, and strewn with the wretched people’s bones.”
“And how long is this to last?” said Frank, as he thought of his brother’s fate.
“Till England stretches forth her hand to sweep the blasphemous invader from the land he destroys. It is coming, Frank, but the old lion moves slowly and takes some time to rouse.”
“But when he does make his spring—!”
“Yes, when he does! The Indian tiger learned his power then. But the sun is getting too hot for a political lecture, my lad. Come, use your glass again. There’s another enemy about to cross our track.”